


the storm in your eyes

by bluemooning



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Angst, M/M, Multi, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-01
Updated: 2016-10-01
Packaged: 2018-08-18 22:32:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8178545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluemooning/pseuds/bluemooning
Summary: “When were you gonna tell me?!” He half-sobs, half-roars. And in an instant, he’s grabbed Ushijima by the collar of his shirt, and is pulling him up with all the strength he can muster.But it isn’t very much. Ushijima helps him along, rising to his own two feet. It doesn’t really matter. Oikawa barely notices anyways. He’s crying and screaming and he’s the manifestation of everything Ushijima has kept locked away for two long days.“When?!” Oikawa screams, and the apartment rattles around his voice. “Iwa-chan...he…” In the end, he can barely even say it. He lets go of Ushijima and his body goes limp. “He’s dead,”





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [glass_owl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/glass_owl/gifts).



> HAPPY BIRTHDAY YURI!! I hope it’s as wonderful as you are <3 please forgive me for what I did to these boys.

The apartment is quieter when it’s just Ushijima there, just him here with these two rooms. When the breeze comes in like this, he can remember how the landlord raised an eyebrow when they signed the lease - all three of them, him and Iwaizumi and Oikawa. And back when they were searching for a place to live, all three of them together, Oikawa might have said something pretty and so very convincing about the necessity of this arrangement - how they couldn’t afford rent otherwise. 

That might have been true once upon a time. But Iwaizumi and Oikawa, they had grit. If they really wanted their own place, they could have managed. They (well, mostly Oikawa) wouldn’t have needed to come to Ushijima with pleading eyes and a too big smile, with an offer that became more and more irresistible. 

When Ushijima murmurs  _ why _ into the air, it hangs there stagnant until the rising breeze swoops it away.

Why, he thinks, over and over again, until the word is seared into his brain and paralyzes him from the inside out. Why me? Why him? Why two days again on the eight o’clock train? The images on television showed the aftermath of it all, the toppled train car all bent up - and though they spared viewers the sight of the resulting casualties, it was implied in the newscaster’s tone of voice and how the camera panned slowly over the aftermath. He knows too much and not enough simultaneously. It makes him want to tear his chest apart, and then maybe that would rattle him out of his numbness - maybe shock something fresh into his system.

But he doesn’t do that. He stays sitting cross legged on the floor, letting the wind wash over him. The window’s been open for two days now and it let all the night air in. 

He’s starting to think the apartment is too quiet when he hears a key in the door. It swings open fast and hits the wall without mercy. Oikawa makes a grand entrance, as always - it’s his specialty. He kicks his shoes off and they fall with a clatter.

“When were you gonna tell me?!” He half-sobs, half-roars. And in an instant, he’s grabbed Ushijima by the collar of his shirt, and is pulling him up with all the strength he can muster.

But it isn’t very much. Ushijima helps him along, rising to his own two feet. It doesn’t really matter. Oikawa barely notices anyways. He’s crying and screaming and he’s the manifestation of everything Ushijima has kept locked away for two long days.

"When?!” Oikawa screams, and the apartment rattles around his voice. “Iwa-chan...he…” In the end, he can barely even say it. He lets go of Ushijima and his body goes limp. “He’s dead,” Oikawa’s words tremble in the air, his wobbly voice producing a vibrato all it’s own. “He’s dead and I’ll never see him again,” 

“It was an accident,”

“It’s always an accident!” Oikawa says, and he’s spitting acid. “Like no one could help it. But some idiot wasn’t careful, and it’s just an accident. Of course,”

“Oikawa, that sort of thing has a one in a million chance of happening - “

“Well, we’re real lucky, aren’t we,”

Ushijima can’t take Oikawa seriously like this. Maybe it’s true that old habits die hard. But when he sees Oikawa in this state, cheeks streaked with tears, bloodshot eyes - whining up a storm and petulant all the same, it stirs something up in him. He lets Oikawa fall into his arms and hold on tight, fingernails digging into his back. 

“Where were you - “ Oikawa says suddenly, “ - when it - happened,”

“Here,”

“When’d you find out?”

“A few hours later,”

Ushijima tries to ignore the tears soaking his shirt sleeve. But they make the fabric stick to his skin and it feels heavier somehow. 

“I didn’t even know,” sobs Oikawa, “until this morning. My parents told me - why didn’t you? I was so happy visiting them, but then they found out, and they were half-crying when they told me. And so I got the first train here…” The black comedy of the situation makes him laugh. It’s not a genuine sound. “Ushiwaka, you…” Oikawa grinds the words out while his shoulders shake and his grip grows tighter. “Don’t you  _ feel _ anything?” His dark doe eyes are bloodshot and they’re not seeing straight. They gloss over Ushijima and zero in on the other side. “You...it’s like nothing happened, for you. Did Iwa-chan not matter to you? He’s gone forever and you won’t see him again,” Even now, Oikawa can still be such a brat. It’s too ingrained into his attitude to fully go away, even as he falls apart again - his mannerisms a vicious cycle in the worst way. 

“You know I don’t cry,” says Ushijima, and when he loosens his mouth, his shoulders tense up. Oikawa must have felt too it. He takes in this new atmosphere and looks up at Ushijima, who speaks quietly. “I miss Iwaizumi too, you know,”

Oikawa’s gaze is acid. “You’re lying,”

“Oikawa - “

“You’re LYING,” Oikawa screams, and breaks their embrace in a sudden motion, making Ushijima stagger back. They regard each other with smoldering eyes. But little by little, the fire is burning out of Oikawa’s spirit - and at the rate he’s pushing himself, he won’t have a shred of self preservation left in him.

“Oikawa, listen - “

“You never loved him,”

The only sound between them is the breeze outside, picking up into a harsher wind - a storm is brewing in their midst. It whips the trees and the umbrellas of unfortunate souls. Oikawa’s breathing is a full body effort - his shoulders go up and down, down and up, and his mouth is open and panting like a feral creature. His stature screams rage, and yet when Ushijima looks into those dark eyes, they’re already brimming over with tears. His hands are clenched into tight fists so they shake less, and for all the effort Oikawa puts into putting up a front, he’s still so easy to read. It’s not even a challenge at this point.

“Okay,” says Ushijima, so casually, so simply, it makes Oikawa blink. It shatters the spell he cast on himself. “You think I never loved Iwaizumi,”

“Well, I mean, if you did, you would have  _ done _ something,” Oikawa babbles as Ushijima advances on him. For every step taken forward, he takes one back, until he’s up against the wall and Ushijima is looming darkly over him. Despite the tension between them, he still talks and talks in a last-ditch attempt at defense. “You would have stopped him from getting on that train, you would have gotten him a ride, you were here and you could have done something - but you didn’t,”

“I’m not a mind reader,”

Oikawa laughs harshly at this. “Don’t I know it,”

“Oikawa, don’t you understand - it was an accident,”

There’s a pause before Oikawa speaks again. His voice sounds smaller as the storm outside gains momentum - and when it rains, it pours. “Fine. An accident. No one could have done anything,” He’s crying those tears again, the kind that make Ushijima’s gut twist ten different ways. The droplets stream freely down his cheeks and he’s the ugliest crier. “No one - no one could have saved him - “

His grip is surprisingly strong when he reaches out to Ushijima, through the tears and the pain, all of it. His body feels like a live wire and when Ushijima plants a tender kiss on his cheek, the taste of salty sodium lingers in the air.

“Tonight…” Oikawa murmurs, “I want to forget, forget it happened, I want to pretend Iwa-chan will be here tomorrow. Make me forget everything,”

“Oikawa, you - “

“Listen to me, Ushiwaka-chan,” Oikawa says the name with such venom, it makes Ushijima’s spine tremble. “Get it through your thick, thick, head, okay?” Even as he says this, he’s still weeping and shaking and it pulls at Ushijima in all the wrong ways.

One more look at those dark, bloodshot eyes is all he needs. He takes Oikawa by the hand and leads them into their bedroom, spreads out the futon on the floor - it’s too large for just the two of them, and when Oikawa sits down cross-legged on it, he looks smaller in the midst of all that white material.

Ushijima starts slowly, gently, in the vein of how grief ought to go. Or, rather, how he thinks it should be. But Oikawa can’t tell the difference and in the end, it really doesn’t matter.

He doesn’t say a word in between chaste kisses peppered upon Oikawa’s forehead, cheeks, the sharp edge of his collarbone and the tender skin stretched taut over it. Instead, he lets the silence speak for itself, and when he wipes the tears from Oikawa’s face, the droplets caught in his eyelashes are impossible to brush away.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs, so that maybe it could be true - and his voice mirrors the thunder outside, a suggestive low rumble that makes Oikawa hold onto him tighter. “You’ll be okay,”

“Don’t lie…” Oikawa cries out in a small voice. “What if...it’s not okay,”

He gasps when Ushijima’s movements become rougher, more direct - more characteristic of the man himself, and yet a surprise all the same. His doubts and fears are swallowed up by Ushijima’s mouth on his own, kissing him deeply. Oikawa’s heart pounds something severe through it all - he lets Ushijima ravage him more, breathing new emotion into him - and when he finally comes up for air, they’re both flushed all over. It’s dark with only the moonlight illuminating this room, and it makes the shadows stronger. It makes the sharp planes of Ushijima’s face that much more obvious. And when he pulls his shirt off, and helps Oikawa with his, chiaroscuro seems to be painted on their bodies in long, wide strokes.

“Beautiful,” murmurs Ushijima, and Oikawa isn’t sure he heard right until another flurry of kisses is tickling his neck, teeth scraping his earlobe - pulling and scraping at the cartilage until the sensation is branded into his memory. “You’re beautiful,” he says again, and his hands slide over Oikawa’s trembling chest. His fingers trace the ridges of Oikawa’s ribcage and settle in the groove of his waist. “You’re mine and you’re beautiful,”

“Am I,” Oikawa manages to say, even as Ushijima presses their bodies together with more urgency. The prickling heat between them brings a familiar, bittersweet warmth to Oikawa. It brings forth memories of long practices and longer weekends, of spiky black hair and a love so ingrained, it took summer rain and the passage of youth to open both their eyes. If he imagines it hard enough, the storm outside is the same as in that moment - and it makes him sob all over again.

“Stop thinking,” Ushijima orders him, and just in case, he employs a new tactic. His voice comes in short phrases, making it easier to digest. “You’re here with me,” he says, and rubs roughly against Oikawa’s stiffening cock, half-hard and leaking. Both of them have become aroused. This realization makes Oikawa gasp for air - it seems to have thinned out over the last few seconds. He’s nothing short of light-headed when Ushijima eases both of their pants off in a matter of moments, leaving them both naked and vulnerable in the moonlight.

“But - “

“But what?” 

Ushijima has already wrapped his wide hand around Oikawa’s shaft, pumping it to it’s full length in slow, even strokes. The pad of his thumb toys with the head, glistening with precum. He slides his palm over the stuff and he rubs, on and on, until Oikawa throws his head back and whines into thin air.

“Ushiwaka, please - “ He chokes out, “Oh god,”

And from there, he loses coherence. Oikawa’s babbling has no rhyme or reason to it - it’s a long series of throaty breaths, of guttural moans - small gasps and shameless cries, and everything in between. It’s a concerto of his primal lust, the kind he keeps locked away through the days, and only shows to his lovers - first Iwaizumi, and now Ushijima himself.

For a split second, he’s jealous. Who wouldn’t be? Oikawa and Iwaizumi had always loved each other more. That was an immutable fact. He couldn’t undo the years they had spent together, from childhood to the present - nothing he could have done would make up for that time. The  bond between Iwaizumi and Oikawa had been different from the dynamic of their trio, and for all those two had claimed it didn’t make a difference - in the end, it did. 

With that thought in mind, his slick fingers slide south and slip up inside of Oikawa. His other hand has a firm grip on Oikawa’s thigh, keeping it still through its spasming spells. The freshly unattended cock still stands tall, at attention, trembling between his legs. Oikawa’s hole is pink and soft and takes the shape of Ushijima’s fingers in a flash. He whimpers through it all, and a flash of silent lightning illuminates his flushed face, covered in sweat - his jaw muscles gone slack and his mouth freely hanging open. His eyes are glazed over and can’t seem to see this world.

The thunder comes shortly after, and it sends a spike of adrenaline running through Ushijma. He wraps a hand around his own erection, and just as he reaches a crossroads on his next action, Oikawa finds the strength for words.

“Fuck me,”

He gasps this out through a breaking voice and clenched teeth - and how could Ushijima disobey him, sounding like that? He’s upon Oikawa in the next second, fitting inside him as easy as anything, moving in a steady rhythm at first.

But this isn’t enough. Not anymore. So, as all virile young men are wont to do, he increases his pace, until the body beneath him could be anyone’s. He pounds the heart out of Oikawa and makes him scream into the night. His voice comes shamelessly, and what a voice it is - in the end, Oikawa is the vocal type, through and through.

Ushijima’s thrusts gain momentum, until he’s fucking Oikawa hard, pushing into him deeper and deeper - and this is nothing like the tender moments the three of them always shared, not like the soft cuddles and gentle voices. Nobody is being worshipped here tonight. No one is playing mediator to their antics. This is all between the two of them, without a witness to claim otherwise - and now, sweet words are a thing of the past. 

In fact, this is more Ushijima’s style, he thinks.

And that’s his last thought before he pushes his dick into Oikawa one last time, the pressure in his groin too much to take - and before he can stop himself, he comes inside, the heat enveloping them both in a heavy wave. When he pulls out slowly, his cum leaks out of Oikawa’s asshole, staining the futon and glowing milky white on Oikawa’s thighs.

Ushijima retrieves a damp towel from the bathroom and thoroughly wipes Oikawa off. He’s already passed out, and his breathing comes quietly through the raging storm. The thunder shakes their old -  _ historic _ , the landlord always calls it - their old apartment building with a vengeance. But nonetheless, Oikawa is down and out for the count. He looks so peaceful like this and it soothes Ushijima, to see this side of him.

He wipes the damp bangs off of Oikawa’s forehead, and his hand lingers in Oikawa’s hair. It’s soft between his fingers and a pleasure to feel. He looks out at the pouring rain, and out of nowhere, he remembers - the living room window is still open. The room must be soaked by now. They definitely won’t get their deposit back.

But he doesn’t get up to check. The corners of his mouth turn up despite himself. In a way, the tempest has entered him, too. It echoes between these four walls and remains as a ghost. Though it still haunts him now, surely it won’t be that way forever. 

And yet forever is still so far away - and when the dark storm clouds hide the moon, no one can see the first of many tears slide down his cheek.

**Author's Note:**

> i really love pain


End file.
